The Monster on the Wall
by marisa lee
Summary: "Maybe this time the monster on the wall will become permanently real." The would-be 'Good Girl Gone Bad' story—if she'd had any good in her to begin with. one-shot.


**Title: The Monster on the Wall**

**Pairing(s): Buttercup/Boomer**

**Rating: T for language and slight dark themes.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the PowerPuff Girls.**

**Word count: 2,662**

**Prompt: Good Girls Gone Bad (take two).**

**Summary: "Maybe this time the monster on the wall will become permanently real." ~ The would-be 'Good Girl Gone Bad' story—if she'd had any good in her to begin with.**

**A/N: Since so many of you liked my story 'A Darker Shade of Blue' (dealing with the girls becoming bad rather than the typical boys becoming good), I decided to give it another shot.**

**Yeah, you read right. BUTTERCUP AND BOOMER. So what are you gonna do about it, sue me? Don't like it, don't read it. Flamers will not be tolerated, thankyouverymuch.**

**Any resemblances to 'A Darker Shade of Blue' are entirely coincidental.**

**xoxo ~ml**

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**The Monster on the Wall**

"Buttercup, please be honest: did you lock Bubbles' hamster in the kitchen cabinet or not?"

Blossom folds her arms across her chest and clicks her tongue as she glares at her sister. Bubbles peeks out from behind her leader's shoulders, cradling the shivering creature in her hands.

"Yeah, so what if I did?" Buttercup snaps. "It's just a stupid hamster."

Bubbles whimpers and Blossom puts a protective hand over her shoulder. "Buttercup, that is not very nice at all. Please apologize to Bubbles and her hamster."

The raven-haired girl scoffs. "Why do you always take her side?" she whines. "She's such a little baby. I don't even see why she needs any real animals. She's seventeen and still sleeps with a fucking stuffed octopus!"

Bubbles gasps. "You leave Octi out of this!"

"Buttercup!" Blossom scolds. "I do not choose sides! I cannot believe you would accuse me of such a thing!"

"Because you do! You never listen to me! Only sweet, innocent Bubbles!"

"As if you had a legitimate reason for trapping her hamster in the cupboard!"

"I could have! You never know! That thing never fucking shuts its trap! I had to do something! She's lucky I didn't kill the goddamn thing!"

A gasp from Bubbles and a disapproving look from Blossom and Buttercup has had enough. She cries out in anger and bursts through the door into the evening drizzle. It is late April, and the sky is dim with dark, billowing clouds. The sun has long sunk behind the trees and is all but visible to the eye, hiding from the infuriated Buttercup as she dashes down the street, leaving only a faint green streak in her midst.

She doesn't know where she is going, and she doesn't care. All she knows is that she has to get as far away from her sisters as possible. For nearly seventeen years she's put up with this constant bickering—and Blossom, the 'Leader Girl', always takes Bubbles' side. For every argument. And Buttercup is sick of it.

The soft drizzle stings Buttercup's cheeks as she whips around a corner. She picks up her speed, her short hair quicky moistening against the back of her neck and whipping around her ears. She has the thought to just continue on forever, forever until she runs out of steam. Or until she dies when her heart gives out. Whichever comes first.

But something, a sound, catches in her ears and causes her to stop suddenly, her tennis shoes skidding across the pavement as she whips her head towards the noise.

_Kssssssssssssssst_.

She arches an eyebrow. That's a familiar sound. It sounds exactly like Blossom, spraying that annoying, air-killing hairspray all over her stupid ugly head.

_Ksssssssssssst_.

A rattling sound, now. What _is_ that?

_Ksssssssssst. Ksssssssssst._

Buttercup tilts her head to the side and takes a cautious step forward. The sound is coming from an alleyway, just around this corner here...

_Kssssst_.

Fists up and poised for an attack, she jumps into the mouth of the alley and allows her eyes to adjust to the darkness. There by the wall stands a teenager, a boy, his long blonde locks barely hidden, tucked into a deep grey hoodie which is pulled snugly over his head. In his trembling hands he holds a can of spray paint.

Buttercup lowers her defense. It's just some stupid teenage hooligan.

"Hey, dumbass, graffiti's illegal you know," she calls to the boy, her arms folded across her chest.

At the sound of her voice, the boy gives a start, whipping his head around to face her. In an instant, the look of utter fear in his ocean blue eyes dissipates into anger. Buttercup recognizes him immediately.

"Yeah, so what are you gonna do about it?" Boomer barks. "Beat me up?"

"I might as well, since you asked."

"Leave me alone," he mutters, turning his back to her and shaking the can of paint to spray the brick wall again.

Bad idea. In the blink of an eye, Buttercup has him pinned against the wall, her hand clutching his throat intensely. He coughs, choking against her hold.

"Never turn your back on me if you know what's good for you," she growls into his ear, slamming him onto the ground forcibly.

His hood falls down around his shoulders, his crystal eyes ablaze as he glares at the green puff. His dirty blonde bangs hang down in front of his eyebrows.

She smirks. The little blonde looks so helpless down on the ground, so weak and defenseless. She takes a menacing step forward and he flinches, dropping the paint can with a loud clatter. This amuses her. She snatches the can as it rolls away from him, floating away to criticize his graffiti.

She stares at the art on the wall for a few seconds. Boomer studies her, internally debating whether he should attack her or run away. Boomer had drawn a giant green monster, consuming most of the wall, its sharp, menacing teeth gnashing together and hideous green scales standing straight up on its back. Buttercup raises an eyebrow. She has to give the young villain credit, he's quite the artist.

"What's the point of this?" she asks him, gesturing to the art with a wave of her arm.

He stands up by resting a careful hand on his knee and raising himself to his feet. "It's a monster," he says plainly.

Buttercup's eyes roll into the back of her head. "Well, duh, I'm not that stupid," she responds. "I mean, why'd you draw that?"

Boomer stares at her silhouette, outlined in the dim lighting of the alleyway. The drizzle is barely even a drizzle anymore, and the two can hear the faint sound of cars rushing by on the distant streets of town.

"Why should I tell you?" he retorts, stomping forward and snatching the paint can out of her hands. This time, she doesn't protest. She just watches curiously as he shakes the can again and finishes the monster's thick green tail, scales spiking up on all edges.

Buttercup is transfixed by the monster on the wall. There seems to be something familiar about it, but she can't quite place it. The monster's deep, sea green scales threaten her like a horror film, the look on its face one of pure angst and ferocity. As she tilts her head, she realizes what the monster represents. It clicks.

She inhales deeply, the monster's single, profiled bright green eye glimmering and glaring at her angrily.

"What, like you can do better," Boomer scoffs, mistaking her reaction as one of disapproval. The raven-haired girl just shakes her head, reaching out to touch the monster's painted back with a trembling hand. He studies her face, waiting for another reaction, for her to say something, anything to criticize his art. But she simply stares unblinkingly into the monster's lone eye with her hand on its back, her thoughts an enigma to the blonde boy.

He suddenly pities her. What he once saw as his brother Butch painted there on the wall was now an altered image; tainted by the unfamiliar gleam in the green puff's eyes. He wordlessly, carefully, fearlessly reaches out and covers her hand with his own, not looking at her. He sees her tears out of the corner of his eye but he says nothing.

At first she doesn't notice, and that's okay. He just holds her hand over the monster's back, silently willing her to be alright. When her eyes finally flicker to their contacting body parts, she stares at the back of his hand for a moment before turning away, slipping her hand out from under his with a scowl.

His hand lingers on the wall for only a split second more before it droops lifelessly to his side. Her back is to him now, and her shoulders are shaking. He wants to reach out and comfort her, somehow, but something tells him 'no'. It's bad to associate yourself with the enemy, and he knows that. So he watches her. Waits for her shoulders to stop shaking. Counts down the seconds before she'll turn back around and beat him to a pulp for touching her. He knows it's coming. He anticipates it. Sure, he could fight back. Attack her from behind, even. He's a villain. He'd stoop that low. Anything to gain the upper hand. But there's a reason he refuses to budge, his hand still tightly clasped around the can of spray paint.

She intimidates him. There's something in her—a spark, a desire, a _passion_ that he can't quite place. But he likes it. He craves it. He yearns for it. All the times he'd fought her sister, Bubbles, she'd go easy on him and still end up beating him. There's just something about Bubbles that makes her impossible to touch. But Buttercup... She's different. She can take a hit. She can keep on coming. He suddenly feels the urge to lose. To lose to her, just so he can feel what it feels like to be completely destroyed by someone. Utterly, devastatingly, destroyed. He deserves it. He wants it. He n_eeds_ it.

"Get out of the way," he barely hears her mutter between her teeth.

"What?"

She hates having to repeat herself. Furious tremors shook her entire body as she does, though. "Get. Out. Of. The. Way."

He backs off to the opposite wall. Blends in with the shadows of the alley. He's barely two steps away from his previous position when Buttercup suddenly explodes. She whirls around and claps a furious energy beam towards the monster on the wall. The bricks are scorched and there is a gigantic, gaping crater where the monster once dominated. She screams ferociously, laser beaming the wall still further towards its collapse, until the entire apartment building bursts into flames.

Moments later, screams are heard from inside, the TownsVillians who once occupied the building running for cover as the fire eats ceaselessly away at their home.

Buttercup stares into the flames, at the exact scorched spot where Boomer's monster once was. He sees the sparks reflected in her deep, hazy pupils. She tears up again, whether it be from the flames or other.

She blinks the salty wetness away though, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Don't ever turn good," she mumbles. He isn't sure how, but somehow he knows she's addressing him directly. "There's too much pressure. It sucks."

"There's pressure on the bad side, too," he responds after a moment's silence. Her back remains to him, her shoulders continuing to tremble. Though Boomer is no longer afraid of her lashing back at him. He somehow knows he isn't her target anymore.

"Not as much."

He'll give her that, alright.

"Nobody ever said you had to be good, you know." Boomer takes a hesitant but purposeful step forward.

"My family..." she whispers. Images of the 'ever-innocent' Blossom and Bubbles flash through her mind and her fist clenches. Her eyes shut tight, a single tear falling from her closed lids.

"Just because they gave you a label doesn't mean you have to follow it. I'm always 'the stupid one', but I'm not really as dumb as I look."

He takes another step forward. He's right behind her now. She can feel heat emanating from both the fire at her front and his body at her back. She fights the urge to shudder at his sudden closeness.

She slowly turns around, fully prepared to punch him square in the jaw; to tell him she'll never join his side. Her knuckles throb angrily as she clenches her wrist. Her eyelids flicker open, and his wide, ever-curious crystalline eyes meet her gaze. The burning light from the fire at her back sparks alive in his irises, giving the illusion that the fire is really inside of him, inside his eyes, his soul...

Her fist unclenches for a second, only to re-clench itself around the collar of his hoodie. She shoves him backwards, forcing him up against the opposing wall once again. He flinches, closing his eyes, completely prepared for the beating of his life. This is it. This is the moment he finally gets to feel something. He'll finally know what it's like to truly hurt, to bleed, to die.

But his jaw is not matched with the intensity of her blow. His stomach is clenched, although she hurts him not. He can still feel her hand gripping his collar tightly, though she remains as stark still as the wall at his back. He begins to open his eyes, to question, to wonder, but he's caught off-guard. Caught between an unbudging wall and a pair of surprisingly soft, sweet lips on his own.

How Buttercup feels in that instant, the very deciding moment before she decides not to kill him can only be described as euphoric. The previously negative energy from her anger gushes through her mouth into his, forcing herself upon him like a vise to its prey. Her lips discover his without hesitation, exploring every crevice of the shocked boy's mouth with ardour and aggression. The forgotten green paint can clatters loudly to the ground, rolling between their feet. She grips the front of his hoodie ever tighter with both hands as he reacts, wrapping his arms around her waist like they belong there.

The fire blazes harshly against Buttercup's back, the cool, crisp mist of the evening evaporating in the very heat of their sparks. The flame licks at the back of Buttercup's thighs, threatening to consume her completely. Boomer can feel the burning sparks against his hands but he ignores them.

Buttercup tenses at the sound of her name over the roar of the flame. She tears herself away from the flustered blonde, allowing the flames to consume her, if only for a moment. Her head still pounds with the intensity of the sudden kiss, her lips throbbing and begging for more.

Her name is called again. It's a familiar voice. Her sister. Blossom. The leader. The one who started this whole mess.

She hates her.

Boomer stands stark still, knowing he's caught; he'd be blamed for the fire, he's sure of it. He'd get thrown into jail without his brothers this time, and it's all at the expense of the enigmatic raven-haired girl whose eyes sparkle so like that of the monster he'd painted on the wall...

But her eyes meet his again. He tenses. She presses her hands to his chest and kisses him again, less harsh but still as ferociously passionate as the first time. His eyeballs whirl behind his eyelids as he tries to keep up with her, but as soon as she'd begun, she ends it all.

And then she's gone. She disappears into the fire altogether, her devilish black form fading completely into the orange glow of the flames. The space in between his arms feels bare and empty, his chest only warmed by the heat of the dying fire before him. The shouts of her name echo and fade into the distance as he tries to recollect himself, staring into the fire where Buttercup has only just disappeared.

He sinks back into the shadows. He waits until he's sure there's no more fire, no more superheroines calling out for their sister, no more anything. Just silence. When he's positive he's alone, and the splashed rush of the streetcars can once again be heard rolling over puddles in the distance, he picks up the paint can at his feet. He turns around to face the wall behind him, shaking the can.

This time he knows exactly what sort of monster he wants to paint.

_Ksssssst_.

Maybe this time, if he concentrates hard enough, the monster will come alive again and destroy him completely with its fiery attacks.

_Kssssssssst. Ksssssst._

Maybe this time, if he's lucky, she won't change her mind.

Maybe this time the monster on the wall will become permanently real.


End file.
